


lick (your friends)

by JadeClover



Series: star-hewn colossi [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, Cuddling, Galran culture, M/M, gestures of affection, mentions of other relationships, naps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeClover/pseuds/JadeClover
Summary: Gestures of affection can vary wildly across species and cultures. For instance, Zarkon will surely understand that Alfor cajoling him to rest after thirty-seven long vargas is an obvious sign of care... but while still half asleep, Zarkon forgets one place where Galran and Altean traditions diverge...





	lick (your friends)

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [@eatyourgrapes](https://eatyourgrapes.tumblr.com/), whose birthday is today, and this is to make up for the fic I actually intended as a birthday fic A) not being done and B) turning out to be 5k+ words of terrible angst. Giving someone terrible angst on their birthday is probably some kind of faux pas, so I'll be finishing and posting that one some other day. Happy birthday Tali!!!
> 
> Is this platonic Zarfor? Romantic? Somewhere in between? Your mileage may vary, interpret as you will.

"I have done this before, Alfor," Zarkon says. Though the sleep-slurred haze ( _which the nunvill only abets_ ), he manages a vaguely exasperated tone, as though Alfor's concern is charming but otherwise unwelcome.  
  
"Have you now?" Alfor asks, turning to walk backward a few steps before the fear of tripping over a nonexistent obstacle spins him back around.  
  
The _"this"_ Zarkon speaks of is, of course, staying awake for thirty-seven vargas straight and attempting to attend a diplomatic gala in the meantime. Or... the lack of sleep, at least, because the gala is new. The other part...  
  
A vision from some long-ago mission swims through Alfor's mind. Zarkon pushed himself hard, too hard, so they could... what was it? He barely remembers. Save the locals, perhaps. A great many locals on a great many planets need saving, he's discovered.  
  
It _was_ a very dangerous situation, but what Alfor remembers is twenty-five vargas since _he_ was safe enough to sleep, his friends curled alongside him like a pack of wrung-out klanmüirl cubs, but Zarkon's weary voice: _"I could not sleep if I tried. I will keep watch."_  
  
Perhaps letting a teammate push himself that much farther into exhaustion is not what a good paladin would do, but Galra are stubborn people and there is a reason Zarkon is their emperor. ( _The reason is actually the imperial laws of succession, but "rule of the most stubborn" sometimes seems just as likely._ )  
  
( _That makes little sense. Perhaps Alfor stayed up a bit too late as well..._ )  
  
"Yes," Zarkon asserts, but there is a heavy pause as though he's trying to remember what he's agreeing to. "I will rest when my duties are complete. This event is of great importance to my people."  
  
"Is that why you spent half of it downing nunvill?"  
  
A glance over his shoulder shows Alfor a consternated frown ( _and unfocused eyes_ ).  
  
"The nunvill kept me awake," Zarkon says.  
  
Alfor believes it; the drink's effects on Galra are strange. It is also, however, the reason for Zarkon's shaking hands—and anyone with claws that large and sharp really ought to be in full control of their hands at all times.  
  
Passing another door panel, Alfor peers briefly at the symbol above it and very nearly walks on. Half a tick later, he jerks himself to a halt and steps back, the scrape of armored boots and a muttered invective evidence of just how close Zarkon comes to colliding with him.  
  
Alfor's attention is on the symbol. Traditional written Galran is always a challenge, even with the translators, and naturally the imperial palace is rife with it. Nevertheless, he is _almost_ certain this one says "lounge." He should probably know "lounge" better by now. The Galra _love_ their lounges.  
  
He tries the door panel and it opens easily. Good—because his next option was seizing Zarkon's hand and using his bio-signature to open it. That's probably a diplomatic faux pas, even for him—using a planetary leader as a means to break into his own palace's rooms. Not good.  
  
Swaying a little on his feet but making a good effort at hiding it, Zarkon trails after Alfor into the deserted room, probably not even wondering why they're here. Alfor strides purposefully toward one of the long, curved couches, and Zarkon follows almost obediently behind him. Only when Alfor turns does Zarkon blink and pause, draw his brows together beneath the more formal crown he wore for the gala, and open his mouth.  
  
"Sit," Alfor says.  
  
Zarkon closes his mouth, blinking again. After studying the violet seat of the couch for several ticks, his eyes find Alfor's again. ( _Ancients, he is_ adorable _like this... but he would be more so if he wasn't still swaying on his feet._ )  
  
" _Sit,_ Zarkon," Alfor repeats, taking on a tone that is not meant to be patronizing but bears an alarming similarity to the voice he uses to try and get Allura to stop wiggling in her high chair and eat her breakfast. ( _Coran has far better luck with the food lion..._ ) "You're asleep on your feet, and at this point, if you pass out there will be no one to convince your guards I didn't poison your nunvill in hopes of stealing your empire."  
  
Another long, consternated frown. "But you would not attempt to steal my empire... would you?"  
  
_Stars,_ he was not supposed to take that _seriously._  
  
"Of course not, Zarkon," Alfor says. "As your friend, I'm simply worried about you. You attended your gala, you served your people, now take a moment to sit down and rest." He gestures around. "The lounge is empty, and if anyone comes looking for you, I'll tell them off. Just for a few vargas, at least."  
  
He can see it when Zarkon's resolve starts to crumble. His shoulders slump, and that almost frenetic energy he pulled from the nunvill at long last slips away. His gaze finds the couch again, the furrow of his brows almost longing. " _Only_ a few vargas?"  
  
"Of course. I will wake you myself—I swear it."  
  
"Hm." Zarkon takes a step forward but stops short.  
  
"Well?" Alfor prompts. "Am I to sit alone or will you join me? It's rude, you know, to attend a lounge and stand while others sit."  
  
Something of the old, unworn Zarkon appears again, struggling to the surface for the noble task of defending his people's ways... though Alfor would not call this _"attending a lounge."_ There is only the two of them, and the situation is far from formal.  
  
Zarkon still watches Alfor suspiciously, as if waiting to see if he truly means to sit or if it is all a trick.  
  
"I'm sitting," Alfor says with a faint laugh, raising his hands in mock defeat and falling back onto the couch. ( _Truly not a lounge. That would be_ abhorrent _behavior among Galran nobility._ )  
  
A mere half-tick later, Zarkon settles beside him, and perhaps that says something about the whole situation, how fast denial can burn away in the light... In the _metaphorical_ light, as the lounge is devoid of nearly all illumination—only faint violet guide-lights circling the edge of the chamber, barely enough for Alfor to see by but fortuitously perfect for resting.  
  
...And he himself is quite tired, now that he lets the vague adrenaline feel of formal-wear and public diplomacy fade. He sinks back into the plush seat, but Zarkon is already far more gone than he... listing to the side slightly, if Alfor's eyes do not betray him in the dark.  
  
A smile curls his lips, and the heady triumph of convincing an exhausted friend to look after himself for a tick turns him bold enough to reach up and tug the half-asleep Zarkon close.  
  
_"Rest,"_ Alfor murmurs, and Zarkon leans against him so willingly gravity decides it's better that Alfor recline with the weight of his friend sprawled across him. Fair enough. So long as Zarkon gets his rest.  
  
And it _is_ comfortable, the way Zarkon tucks his face into Alfor's neck. It's _adorable,_ really. And as anyone who knows Alfor beyond the level of mere acquaintanceship is all too aware, Alfor has an _"insatiable cuddle need"_ —that's what his wife calls it. It's a fact of his being, just like his passion for alchemy, his hard-earned grace with a blade, and his status of being short ( _as his friends of taller species constantly enjoy reminding him_ ).  
  
Zarkon rumbles so softly only Alfor's keen Altean hearing gives him a hope of catching it. Working an arm into a somewhat better position, Alfor gently lifts the crown from Zarkon's head. His excuses? Zarkon's comfort and ensuring neither the he nor the crown are somehow damaged by sleeping in it. And the other reason: An irresistible urge to scratch Zarkon's head plating, because he is feeling affectionate tonight.  
  
Zarkon rumbles again, ears flicking. Yes— _adorable._ Alfor loves him, you know. Just a little bit.  
  
With a startled blink, Alfor stiffens; a warm, slightly wet sensation flickers across his neck and vanishes again an instant.  
  
Ah... of course. A fond smile crosses his face, and he fights it from becoming a full-blown grin despite there being no one in the universe who would see it. That Galran habit of his...  
  
Zarkon forgets sometimes—such as when he's half-asleep—that other species do not share this particular sign of affection. Alfor doesn't mind—not at all—but Zarkon does care for _"propriety"_ when he's awake.  
  
...When he's not awake, he licks his friends.  
  
It's actually quite sweet. The gesture is only for one's closest, dearest companions, and Alfor is intensely pleased to count among them. Zarkon is _good_ —a good friend, and simply "good" in the general sense of the term.  
  
...And he appears to have fallen well and truly asleep now, his tensed limbs gone light and untethered, his hands thankfully no longer shaking, each breath he takes warm and impossibly slow against Alfor's neck.  
  
_Good._  
  
It was about time. Alfor knows inter-system politics have had them all on edge lately, but what could be so urgent as to keep Zarkon awake for _thirty-seven vargas?_ He hopes nothing dire is occurring. Whatever it is, if it needs attention, they can worry about it later, _after_ Zarkon has had his rest—a _proper_ rest, too, for a full six vargas, in a bed, with Honerva frowning at him to make sure he stays there ( _though she may be where he picked up this habit of staying awake for far too long, come to think of it..._ ).  
  
In the meantime... what are the potential ramifications of Alfor taking the opportunity for a nap of his own? Anyone could wander in—servants, nobility, foreign dignitaries escaping the gala...  
  
Hm. Does this qualify as a _"compromising position"_?  
  
Does it _matter?_  
  
No—not at all. Surely there are worse scandals than two planetary leaders found cuddling in an empty, darkened lounge. Of course there are.  
  
But he _did_ promise to wake Zarkon in a few vargas, and he should probably send a message to _someone,_ assure Coran he hasn't gone missing from the gala because he's been kidnapped by Galran insurgents ( _again—though the first time doesn't count_ ). His communicator would be easier to reach if Zarkon wasn't sleeping on top of it, though...  
  
Ah, well. It's as good a time as any to take a moment and relax. He's scarcely had a spare tick to _breathe_ recently, let alone contemplate the important matters of the universe ( _like alchemical theories, klanmüirl cubs, and being licked by friends... Will he ever work up the courage to see if Zarkon likes being licked in return? Perhaps..._ ). And this is a far better way to spend an evening than attempting diplomacy with strangers. Alteans are very fond of diplomacy, but even _he_ needs a break now and again.  
  
He curls closer to Zarkon, careful not to wake him.  
  
Yes—a far better evening indeed...

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out to be far less about friend-licking than I initially anticipated, but I left the title as it is because A) it's cute, and B) the initial idea was 100% friend-licking before I actually tried to put the scene into words.


End file.
